ADHD Valentine Nightmare
February 14, 2008
This is a serger. Today, Valentine’s Day, I must learn how to use it. In lieu of chocolates, flowers or fornication, I have decided to spend the entire day and evening with the serger. It can’t be as disappointing as a man or any more difficult to figure out. A serger finishes seams so that they don’t ravel. I bought it on E-Bay so that I could make professional looking Vermarvelous Pants. I will know what I am on the right dose of Adderall because I will be able to read the instruction manual and thread the upper loop and left loop and right loop and lower loop and adjust the thread cutter and thread guide pole and the feeding of the rubber spool holders and thread tensions. Supposedly, by threading the left needle only a width of 6mm will be produced, while threading two needles will produce a width of 3.8mm. The instruction manual, English, Spanish and French, makes more sense in Spanish although I cannot read Spanish. “Con la Batea de hilos en esta posicion, cogera todos materiales gastodos.” Okay, no problem, but ou est la mother fucking lint tray?
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There is somebody in my house in Vermont. A nice man is renting my house and I am thrilled because that man is renting my house and sending me money so that I can rent an apartment in Providence. Now, wait a minute. Does this make sense? I thought so, a few weeks ago, when I was working here, singing, planning, organizing, hob-knobbing, but as of today, as I lugged a bunch of my crap up two flights of stairs on the East Side, all the while knowing I would have to lug the crap back down the two flights of stairs a few months from now— as of today, I thought to myself, “Gee, I don’t feel very good in my head” I sat on the stairs, dirty stairs, very dirty, and considered my situation. I blamed the town of Bridport , Vermont, for not having a Dunkin Donut’s or a Cafe, a bar or a nightclub, a college, tennis courts, health club, movie theater. Then I blamed myself for wanting those things. Then I blamed myself for having those things here in Providence and not taking advantage of them because I like staying home and reading in bed. Now, if I like staying home and reading in bed, why don’t I just move back to my own home, in Bridport, and wait out the winter with Charles Dickens and Mark Twain? Now that I have rented my house, I miss it. It is not available. That is why I was so sad today, moving into what I thought was a nice apartment on the East Side. It is somebody elses house and always will be, no matter how many knick knacks, rugs, paintings, books, personal items I stuff into it. Renting makes me feel insecure, more insecure than worrying about how to pay my property tax. It’s silly, because none of us own anything fully. Still, sombody is in MY house and i am in somebody else’s house, and it’s ridiculous in a way that I can’t quite comprehend and it is making me very very sad.
you need to go outside for a walk and get some fresh air. it sounds like your frontal cortex is lacking oxygen.